


gods of war

by vindicatedtruth (behindtintedglass)



Category: Person of Interest (TV), Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence, F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-04-08 10:35:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19105369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/behindtintedglass/pseuds/vindicatedtruth
Summary: As a new threat looms over New York City, Alec Lightwood discovers a team of Mundanes stopping attacks before they even happen, as Harold Finch realises that the Machine truly sees everything—including the Shadow World.





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

 

“Mister Reese?” Harold leans forward on his desk, clicking the mouse in alarm as he zooms in the view on the screen. “Miss Lewis is now being pursued by a very persistent stalker.”

“And judging by the looks of things,” Root murmurs as she stands beside Harold, her tight grip on the back of Harold’s chair the only telltale sign of her agitation. “He’s close enough to attack her.”

“ _Look, I don’t know what the hell the two of you are talking about_ ,” Sameen’s frustrated tone crackles over the comm, and Harold spares a second to glance at one of the other monitors, where the camera is zoomed in on Sameen’s position on the rooftop of the building directly across their current Number. “ _I don’t see anyone from up here other than Rebecca._ ”

“ _Likewise from down here,”_ John’s gravelly voice adds lowly. _“Finch, Shaw and I have been tracking this girl since she and her brother parted ways after dinner, and no one’s been following her other than me. Are you sure the Machine’s not malfunctioning_?”

“We both know there’s no such thing, John,” Root answers primly. “She’s never wrong.”

“ _Then what the hell is the Machine seeing?”_ John hisses back.

“John,” Harold interjects warningly, helplessly. “He’s closing in.”

“ _Where?”_ Sameen exclaims in frustration, even as Harold sees from his peripheral vision the way Sameen steadies her rifle, preparing to fire.

“Twelve feet away from Rebecca and closing the gap,” Root informs her urgently.

“ _I don’t see anyone!”_

“Ten feet, Sameen.”

“ _Root, I can’t exactly aim at a target I can’t see!”_

“Seven feet, Sameen, _please—_ ”

“John.” Harold’s voice is quiet, calm, and controlled, and it immediately silences the bickering over the comms. “Do you trust me?”

A heartbeat passes before the answer comes, rough and certain: “ _Always, Harold_.”

Harold swallows, ignoring the meaningful glance Root shoots his way. “Then aim straight ahead,” he orders quietly as he looks at John’s position on the monitor.

“ _Harold._ ” There’s an underlying tremor in John’s voice now. “ _There’s nothing between Rebecca and myself. I’ll hit her._ ”

The menacing, looming figure in front of John is closing in on their Number. Harold doesn’t have time to think about how their perpetrator doesn’t exactly look… _human._

“You won’t.”

On the screen, Harold sees the way John suddenly stops. An eerie calm seems to pass over his features before he takes out his gun and aims.

“ _Tell me when to fire._ ”

The unquestioning, unconditional trust makes Harold’s chest clench painfully. Root’s hand migrates from his chair to his shoulder in mute understanding.

“Five feet away, John,” Root declares.

On screen, Harold sees John thumb the safety off his revolver.

“Three feet.”

“ _Guide me,”_ Harold hears John murmur, and he’s about to answer when he realises whom John is _really_ talking to.

“Two,” Root warns.

Through their shared comm, Harold hears a beep—and the familiar automated sounds echoing in John’s ear.

“ _Can. You. Hear. Me.”_

“ _Yes,_ ” John whispers.

“ _Twelve. Oh. Clock.”_

“ _Now,_ John!” Root screams.

John fires.

 

* * *

 

The arrow shoots through empty air, whistling musically—almost mockingly—as it lands on nothing but exploding dust.

“What the hell?” Alec breathes as he slowly lowers his bow.

Jace gapes. “Did—did that guy just—”

“That’s _impossible,_ ” Izzy whispers, shaking her head in disbelief.

“And yet it’s not,” Alec says grimly as he looks up at the source of the bullet. “That Mundane just killed a demon.”

Jace splutters, gesticulating wildly as he turns to face his parabatai. “That man _shot_ the demon, Alec. With what looks like a very Mundane _gun._ ”

“Jace—” Alec tries to say.

Unaware of what’s going on across the street, Jace continues as if Alec hasn’t spoken. “And yet he managed to vanquish the demon _without_ using a seraph blade—”

Alec’s eyes are wide now as he detects movement from behind his brother. “ _Jace—”_

“Unless he’s just like Clary who had no idea she was a Shadowhunter until she bumped into us on a mission—just like this one actually—which _still_ doesn’t explain how his gun—”

“ _Jace_! _”_ Izzy yells as she leaps forward, and Jace reacts on pure instinct.

Alec holds his breath as he finds himself staring straight into the muzzle of a revolver as the man in the suit stares him down. Both of his siblings stand in front of him protectively as Jace raises his sword and Izzy holds her whip out at the ready.

Slowly, the man steps forward as Alec steps back. Bristling, Jace holds his sword close to the man’s throat.

“ _Don’t_ ,” Alec whispers in warning. “He’s a Mundane, we can’t hurt him.”

“Yeah, well, what are we gonna do if he shoots his gun at you next?” Jace hisses and holds his ground, but nevertheless doesn’t make any other movement.

“Mundane weapons can’t hurt me,” Alec remarks dazedly as he keeps moving backward, matching the other man’s slow tread forward.

“Apparently this particular one can kill _demons_ , big brother, so let’s not be too complacent here,” Izzy reminds him blithely. She lashes her whip in the air in warning; unperturbed, the man keeps his unwavering gaze on Alec, even as his salt and pepper hair ruffles when Izzy’s whip very nearly slices his ear off.

“ _Reese?_ ”

The man stops. Alec furrows his brows as, through his heightened senses, he hears a female voice from the comm in the man’s ear. “ _Reese, where did you go? You’re in a blind spot, I can’t see you. What’s happening?”_

“I’m in the alley Rebecca just passed, Shaw,” the man murmurs in reply, startling Alec; from behind the man, Izzy and Jace exchange similar looks of shock and confusion. “I thought I saw movement in here.”

“ _Well?”_ The woman on the other end of the line sounds impatient now. “ _What’s there?_ ”

Alec sees the man’s shoulders deflate infinitesimally as he finally allows himself to relax—and surprisingly replace his gun on the holster on his belt. “Nothing,” the man answers simply, seemingly in disbelief.

Alec stares as he realises the man isn’t looking at him. He’s looking _through_ him.

“ _Mister Reese?”_ Another voice speaks over the comm, this time that of another man, in a tone that’s significantly more worried. “ _Miss Groves and I can’t see you from here either. Is everything alright?”_

“I’m fine, Finch.” Alec raises his eyebrows in incredulity when everything about the rigid, dangerous-looking man somehow _softens_ , tone gentler and laced with affection when he answers, reminding Alec of… Magnus _._ “I’m heading back to the library now.”

Alec hears the sigh of relief as if it’s in his own ear. “ _Good_. _We seem to have neutralised the threat against Miss Lewis for now. Perhaps it’s best for us to regroup before we investigate her situation further.”_

Izzy tightens her grip on her whip, sharp and steely gaze following the man’s movements as he walks away from them. “How do these people know Simon’s sister?”

“More importantly,” Jace adds quietly as he steps aside, giving the man a wide berth without relinquishing his grip on his sword. “How did they know she was in danger? From a _demon_?”

“That’s what I don’t understand,” the man suddenly says, and all three Lightwood siblings instinctively drop into fighting stances when the man turns around to look at them with assessing eyes.

The hairs on the back of Alec’s neck prickle as he nocks his arrow. He recognises a soldier when he sees one.

And Alec can already tell—this one is _lethal._

“There’s no one here, Finch,” the man in the suit murmurs. “What are we saving Rebecca from?”

 

* * *

 

Harold replays the recording for the fifth time as Root watches silently beside him. Before them on screen, the threat John had just shot with chillingly accurate aim explodes into dust.

“Do you still believe that the Machine isn’t wrong, Miss Groves?” Harold asks quietly.

“ _Yes,_ ” Root answers firmly. She swivels the chair Harold is sitting in, forcing him to face her. “Harold, you built the Machine to save everyone. You designed the Machine to see _everything_ , even violent crimes involving ordinary people. The threat to people like Rebecca Lewis is very real.”

“We’ve already established this, Miss Groves,” Harold interrupts with all the patience he can muster. “However, I don’t recall coding the Machine to present a threat that both Miss Shaw _and_ Mister Reese cannot see, never mind one that _disintegrates when shot at._ ”

“You didn’t teach the Machine to _lie,_ Harold, even though you’re very good at it,” Root says sharply, before gentling when Harold purses his lips, refusing to dignify that outburst with a reply. “She can only show us what she’s seeing. She can’t manipulate anything she detects, only present them to us as facts.” Root raises an eyebrow. “Unless you’re telling me now that it was part of her programming all along?”

“No,” Harold answers softly. He looks away from Root’s penetrating gaze as he clenches his fists on his lap. “Everything about who I am is already a lie. I wanted this to be the one true thing about me.”

A callused hand covers his. “Honestly, I’m _insulted_ , Harry.”

Harold looks up as Root kneels before him. “I’d like to believe that this—all of this—” She makes an all-encompassing gesture around them: at Harold’s monitors, at John’s and Sameen’s weapons, at Bear’s treats and toys, at the glass board where they keep track of all the Numbers they successfully saved, at the files of the Numbers they failed. “This is real, too.”

Harold returns the gentle smile Root offers. “I appreciate your loyalty to the team, Miss Groves, and especially to the Machine.” He takes a deep breath. “But I cannot _logically_ accept what I believe you are proposing.”

Root’s mouth quirks. “Which is?”

Harold stares at her, aghast. “That the Machine is now also seeing _ghosts_ as a threat,” he says blandly.

Root chuckles as she straightens. “Well. Maybe not _ghosts,_ Harold. But…”

They both turn to look back at the monitors. On screen, the recording has been frozen at the exact timestamp when the threat to Rebecca Lewis explodes through John’s bullet.

“But maybe,” Root murmurs, “they’re not exactly human, either.”

 

* * *

 

“What just happened back there, Alec?” Jace demands.

“Believe it or not, Jace, between the span of _seconds_ that passed when Magnus portalled us back, I haven’t _actually_ discovered the answer,” Alec sarcastically retorts.

“Calm down, Jonathan,” Magnus interjects gently but firmly. “We can figure this all out without hot-headedness getting in the way.” He ignores the glare Jace shoots his way as he lays a hand on Alec’s forearm, and it’s enough to still the Shadowhunter; Magnus _feels_ the tension draining from Alec’s taut muscles beneath his fingers. “Alexander, darling?” he softly inquires. “Is everything okay? What happened?”

Alec looks at him and smiles before he rests his forehead against Magnus’, breathing deeply, seemingly centering himself through Magnus’ presence. Magnus lets Alec hold him, his heart thrilling at being allowed this much display of affection—in the Institute, no less.

Finally, Alec pulls away, the back of his fingers brushing against Magnus’ cheekbone in quiet gratitude. “A Mundane just killed a demon that was trailing Simon’s sister,” he explains in a rush.

Magnus’ eyes widen; he doesn’t even know which part of that shocking piece of news to address first, so he chooses the most pressing one. “Is Rebecca okay?”

“She is,” Izzy reassures him, although she too seems shaken. “She didn’t even notice anything. That man got to the demon before we did.”

Magnus’ brows furrow. The story seems… _much_ too familiar. “Is he a Shadowhunter?” He glances at Jace. “Perhaps like Clarissa?”

“No,” Alec answers firmly, surprising Magnus with his vehemence. “He didn’t see us.”

“He didn’t see the demon either,” Jace points out, “and yet he killed it.”

“That’s… certainly a new development,” Magnus hedges; he hasn’t seen the Lightwood siblings this rattled in a long time. “Who _is_ this mysterious man?”

In lieu of answering, Alec pulls up a file on the hologram before them. He presses his lips together and folds his arms in telltale frustration.

Magnus raises his eyebrows. He can certainly see why.

Izzy stares. “Everything’s redacted.”

Jace throws his hands up. “We’ve got absolutely _nothing_ on him?”

“Not even on the Mundane records,” Alec confirms. “It’s like this guy doesn’t even exist.”

Jace sighs. “Well, unless all three of us were in under some kind of spell and we were all hallucinating at the same time, I think we can all confirm that he’s very much real.”

Magnus is quiet as he steps forward to take a closer look at the holographic image. He feels something stirring inside of him as he stares into the eyes of this man. Something ancient _—_ and _powerful._

“Magnus?” He hears the thread of worry ribboning in Alec’s tone, making Magnus belatedly realise he’s been silent for much too long. “What are you thinking?”

He whirls around to face the Shadowhunters. “You know, I never really thought about it before, but—” He makes a sweeping gesture at the monitors all around them. “All this technology—it’s recent, isn’t it?”

Alec blinks.

“Well, yeah, kind of,” Izzy jumps in, saving her big brother from looking like a gaping fish—albeit a cute one, Magnus thinks in amusement. “I mean, we needed a way to stop the demons before they can attack, especially those preying on innocent Mundanes.”

“Like Rebecca just now,” Jace continues. “I guess this is where even Mundane technology comes in handy.”

“I see,” Magnus murmurs distractedly, his gaze flitting back to the man in the hologram. “And where do you get your information?”

“From the Clave,” Alec answers as he steps closer to Magnus, no doubt noticing his inexplicable fascination with their mystery demon-killer. “Where are you going with this?”

Magnus purses his lips. “It’s just…” He turns to face the Lightwood siblings, who are now watching him with varying degrees of curiosity. “The Institute has unlimited data on every Shadowhunter, Downworlder, and Mundane in the city. All coming from the Clave.”

Izzy’s brows knit together in concern. “Are you saying the Clave has something to do with _him_?” She tilts her head pointedly at the man in the hologram.

“No.” Magnus hesitates. “Yes. Maybe.”

“ _Magnus,_ ” Alec says exasperatedly.

“Look, Alexander, Isabelle…” Magnus spreads his arms helplessly. “With all this information at their fingertips, haven’t you all ever wondered where the Clave _gets_ it?”

“You mean Northern Lights?”

All of them turn in unison towards the back of the headquarters when the youngest Lightwood saunters in.

“What?” Max asks innocently, before breaking out into a cheeky grin. “I _did_ tell you before, Izzy. I’m good with computers.”

 

* * *

 

“ _Af,_ Bear,” John murmurs softly at the Belgian Malinois who trots up to happily greet him, paws pattering softly on the library’s hardwood flooring; Bear drops to the ground obediently even as his tail keeps up its enthusiastic wagging when John scratches him behind the ears. “I guess your master hasn’t yet retired for the night, huh?”

“It seems neither have you, Mister Reese.”

John straightens from where he was kneeling before Bear to smile at those owlish eyes peering at him from behind thick-rimmed glasses; he wants to believe he isn’t imagining the affectionate crinkling of those crow’s feet as Harold meets his gaze. “Where’s Root and Shaw?”

“Gone home.”

John’s pretty sure his eyebrows have reached his hairline. “Gone home _together_?”

Harold opens his mouth, closes it, and sternly fixes John with a pointed look. “I’m quite certain that’s none of our business, Mister Reese.”

John’s mouth quirks in amusement, biting back the urge to tease, _want to come home with me, Harold?_ on the tip of his tongue and making his heart clench in ways he can’t afford to think about right now. “I’m worried about the Machine, Finch. She went into God Mode.”

“I’m aware of that, Mister Reese,” Harold agrees as he turns back to his computer. “It seems she’s perceiving a much bigger threat than we first thought.”

“It’s a threat to her personally, otherwise she wouldn’t have been acting in self-preservation,” John murmurs as he sidles next to Harold, craving his presence as both anchor and comfort. He looks at the monitor where a photo of their latest Number is blown up. “But why did the Machine need to use Rebecca Lewis to invent a fake threat just for us to take notice?”

“She didn’t invent it, Mister Reese,” Harold says quietly. “The threat that you and Miss Shaw dealt with earlier, that was very real.”

John sighs. “I didn’t see anything, Finch. I was surprised you and Root kept insisting that someone was there.”

“About that.” Harold hesitates as he twists his whole body to look at John. “Are you certain Miss Shaw _confirmed_ that Miss Lewis was having dinner with her brother?”

“She was right there on the table behind them. Ate three medium rare rib-eye steaks to cope with listening to Rebecca mourn over her broken heart to her brother Simon.” John answers wryly. “Why do you ask?”

The fingers hovering above the keyboard clench into fists before they uncurl determinedly and fly over the keys, lightning-fast. John tears his gaze away from his fascination with Harold’s hands as he looks up at the screen when Harold stops typing.

What he sees there sends chills down his spine.

“Because, Mister Reese,” Harold murmurs as they both stare at the young boy’s blown-up photo. “Simon Lewis is dead.”

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

The Lightwoods have mastered playing up a specific public image of themselves due to the prominence and prestige of their family name. It’s a thinly veiled veneer that Magnus has learned to see for what it is: a mask that they safely put on when they have something to hide. With Alec, it has always been his stoicism; with Izzy, her coquettishness; with Jace, his arrogance.

With Max, Magnus is beginning to realise that _his_ version of the Lightwood mask is a very deceptive veil of innocence.

Alec narrows his eyes at the youngest Lightwood. “What’s Northern Lights? And why do you know about it?”

The wide eyes blinking at Magnus from behind oval-rimmed glasses are a contrast to the knowing smirk on those lips. “Promise you won’t tell Dad?”

Alec folds his arms. “That depends. I’ll decide once I get the information from you.”

Max mimics his posture as he straightens to his full height—which, Magnus observes in fond amusement, barely comes up to Alec’s chest. “Then why should I tell you?”

Alec arches an eyebrow. “Because you’re dying to tell us what you know anyway, and you just needed this excuse.”

Max scowls. “I hate you.”

Alec smirks. “No you don’t.”

“Alec.” Izzy hisses as she grips his arm. “Are you sure it’s a good idea to involve Max in all of this?”

He looks at his sister pointedly. “A good leader recognises his team’s strengths and knows how to utilise it.”

“What your stubborn big brother is saying, Isabelle,” Magnus smoothly interjects as he gracefully glides in front of Max, effectively forestalling the brewing argument among the Lightwood siblings, “is that Maxwell here is a smart one, and Alexander would be a fool to not take advantage of that.”

He winks at his husband, and graciously does not point out that Alec pouts in _exactly_ the same manner as his little brother.

“You’ve always been my favourite brother, Magnus,” Max grins, and Magnus can’t help but preen even as Alec rolls his eyes good-naturedly.

“Kiss up,” Jace drawls.

Max blows a raspberry at him.

“Mature too.”

“ _Max_.” The Lightwood brothers all sober at the gravity of their sister’s tone. “The demon who targeted Rebecca was killed by a Mundane. That makes him just as dangerous. We don’t know if he’s another threat we should look out for. Please,” Izzy softens as she steps forward, “if you know anything that can help us protect Rebecca _and_ Simon, please tell us.”

Max’s shoulders sag as he sighs. “You know I can never say no to you, Izzy.”

Jace smirks. “To be fair, no one can say no to Izzy. _Ow_!” He hisses at Alec.

“Shut up and let her do the talking,” Alec mutters, removing his elbow from Jace’s side.

“Maybe _she_ should be the Head of the Institute,” Jace shoots back.

“Maybe,” Alec murmurs distractedly, making Magnus look at Alec in surprise.

Max huffs, throwing his hands in the air. “I mean if _no one_ really wants to listen to me—”

“Go ahead, Maxwell,” Magnus smiles as he lays his hand on the young Lightwood’s shoulder in solidarity and support. “Dazzle us with that big brain of yours.”

Max drops his hands, tone startlingly grim as he holds up his pad and slides the information there onto the hologram table in front of them. “I don’t think ‘ _dazzled_ ’ is the word you’re looking for.”

They watch silently as Max’s fingers fly lightning-fast over his pad. Intricate lines of computer code appear on the hologram before it expands to an overview of the streets of New York.

“This,” Max announces quietly, “is Northern Lights.”

Magnus’ eyes widen. He moves closer and raises a hand in awe as he traces over the boxes hovering over the faces there—Shadowhunter, Downworlder, and Mundane alike—all going about their daily lives.

“We’re all being watched,” Max explains in response to their unspoken question. “The U.S. government has a secret system. A machine that spies on everyone, every hour of every day.”

“And we’ve all been oblivious to it,” Magnus breathes.

“Until now.” Magnus feels Alec shuffling closer to him, looking just as gripped by the scene on the hologram in front of them. “Max… are you telling us you _hacked_ the U.S. government?”

Max sighs with all the put-upon expression a twelve-year-old Shadowhunter can muster. Magnus dips his head to hide his smile, because that’s exactly how Alec looks like when he’s in one of his more temperamental moods too. “ _No,_ Alec, I didn’t need to. I just needed to hack the Clave.”

Alec opens his mouth, bracing himself; Magnus gently places a hand on his back to forestall the tirade he can already sense is building in his husband. Alec clicks his mouth shut, deflating, and Magnus takes that as his cue to address the young Lightwood.

“What I want to know, Maxwell,” he murmurs, glittered eyes scanning the hologram to focus on the Downworlders milling about New York City, his chest clenching with sudden irrational fear, “is why Northern Lights can detect what Mundane eyes can’t see.”

“And if that’s the case,” Jace adds grimly, “then the Shadow World couldn’t have remain hidden from Mundanes all this time.”

Magnus narrows his eyes. “Neither could the Downworld,” he points out; beneath his hand, Magnus can feel his husband’s posture stiffening as he senses Alec’s heavy gaze suddenly directed at him.

“You don’t have to worry, brother,” Max says softly, hesitantly touching the back of his hand, startling Magnus into the realisation that Max is addressing _him._ “The Clave made sure when they gained access to Northern Lights that they’re the only ones who can see the Shadow World _and_ the Downworld.”

Magnus offers his young brother-in-law a small smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. Logically he knows Max is just trying to reassure him, but the words only makes his stomach feel leaden. He feels Alec’s questioning touch on his back, mirroring Magnus’ hand on his, and Magnus looks up to see genuine concern flitting in those hazel eyes—along with an underlying guilt that Magnus recognises.

His husband knows him all too well.

“Alec, I got your fire message.”

Almost in unison they drop their hands—an unspoken agreement to table a much needed personal discussion at a later time—as Luke comes rushing in, the urgency in the elder Shadowhunter’s tone and actions reminding Magnus abruptly of why they’re having this meeting in the first place. Alec must have sent Luke a message even before he called for Magnus to portal them back.

Magnus glances at his husband and sees the way Alec effortlessly slides on that stoic mask of the Head of the Institute—one that Magnus clearly sees through.

It’s the facade Alec puts on when he refuses to show how much he’s terribly frightened.

“I got the image and description of your mystery demon-killer,” Luke is saying to Alec, “and I’ve been wondering why that Mundane is so familiar.”

“He is?” Izzy’s tone steadily rises as she grips Luke’s arm. “Luke, do you _know_ him? Do you know how we can protect Simon and Rebecca from him?”

Luke looks at her apologetically. “I don’t know him personally, Izzy. But Alec’s description made me remember an urban legend that surfaced among the Mundanes a couple of years ago, so I did some digging back in the archives, and found this.”

He slides the data from his pad onto the hologram table.

“What are we looking at?” Jace peers at the hologram as a video starts playing before them.

“Camera footage from the station where I was assigned as a Detective.” Luke points at the woman standing over the forensics expert extracting DNA from a plastic cup. “That’s Detective Jocelyn Carter, Homicide Division. She hunted down this man for nearly two years before she stopped.”

“Why?” Alec asks quietly.

“He died in a foiled terrorist attack,” Luke declares as another video of a burning street in downtown New York plays onscreen. “He was identified as C.I.A. Agent Mark Snow.”

“He was a soldier,” Magnus murmurs; from his peripheral vision, he sees the way Alec looks at him intensely. “If he somehow came back from the dead, does that mean he’s a Downworlder now?”

Izzy’s eyes widen. “Like Simon?” she whispers.

“That can’t be right,” Max suddenly interjects.

Luke blinks when the young Lightwood steps forward and enters his own data onto the hologram. He points emphatically at the video that appears besides Luke’s. “Look. Northern Lights clearly shows him as very, very much alive. And he’s not Mark Snow, otherwise Northern Lights would have identified him. ”

“And yet,” Jace points out grimly, “even your all-seeing Northern Lights can’t even give us any useful information about him.”

As if on cue, the forensic expert in Luke’s video suddenly speaks up as the results of the DNA test flash onscreen.

“ _Wow,”_ he is saying to Detective Carter. _“Wow-wow. Your guy’s prints were found in over half a dozen crime scenes over the years. Open warrants in four different countries.”_

Magnus watches Detective Carter, who in the video is mirroring the look of trepidation they are all currently wearing.

“ _Who you got down there, Carter? The Angel of Death?”_

Magnus’ eyes widen—before he startles when Max’s pad suddenly rings.

Alec narrows his eyes at the redacted number. “Who’s calling you, Max?” he demands; Magnus can feel his husband’s hackles rising protectively around their family.

Max, however, doesn’t seem alarmed—only fascinated. “It’s her.”

“ _Her_?” Jace repeats incredulously. “Aren’t you too young to have a girlfriend, Max?”

Max ignores him. “It’s Northern Lights,” he murmurs as he watches the call being answered on the hologram. “I programmed my pad to receive the same call when she contacts the Clave.”

Alec runs his hand over his face—a clear sign of his exasperation and exhaustion, Magnus observes in sympathy, heart aching for his husband—and tries to patiently address his brother. “Okay, I still have so many questions about how the Clave even _got_ Northern Lights in the first place, and how _you_ accessed it— _illegally,_ I might add, which would get you into a whole lot of trouble with the Clave if they found out, not to mention _our Dad—”_

“You promised to not tell on me!”

“I said no such thing,” Alec firmly reiterates. “But the most important question I have now is, why would Northern Lights be calling the Clave?”

“She’s giving them the passcode for a Number,” Max explains distractedly as a series of different digital voices spew out seemingly random words in an automated tone from the speakers around the hologram table. “To identify the next victim or perpetrator.”

Izzy furrows her brows. “Of what?”

“A premeditated attack. It’s what Northern Lights is programmed to predict.” Max steps slowly forward, concentrating as the nine completed words appear on screen—and Magnus instantly recognises it for what it is.

“That’s the Dewey Decimal Classification,” he blurts out, making everyone stare at him. Max is looking at him with startled pride, eyes shining with something akin to hero worship. “I helped Melvil Dewey come up with that system,” he explains with an offhand flourish of his hand. “He even gifted me my very first library.”

“Wait—you—someone just _gave_ you a _whole library_?” Alec sputters, turning to his husband in indignation—before the hologram suddenly pops out an image as the Clave finishes decoding.

Izzy’s hands fly to her open mouth as she gasps.

“ _No,_ ” Luke chokes out.

Magnus’ stomach bottoms out, his heart lurching in his chest. Alec stares at Jace, who is suddenly looking very pale.

Max swallows. “The new Number Northern Lights has given,” he pronounces shakily, “belongs to—”

 

* * *

 

“—Clarissa Fray,” Harold declares as he magnifies the image. “Aspiring young artist just starting out at the Brooklyn Academy of Art. Quite talented too.”

John places his hand on the back of Harold’s chair to steady himself as he leans forward and points to what looks like a family picture. “Are those her parents?”

“Her mother, Jocelyn Fray. Single parent,” Harold answers as John gazes at the middle-aged woman whom the teenage girl bears an uncanny resemblance to, with the same flaming red hair and emerald eyes. “A skilled painter herself, though she preferred her work to be anonymous. Kept a low profile despite being an exceptional artist of her caliber.”

“It’s a shame, really,” Root sighs from beside Harold. “She was almost as good as Grace.” She ignores the withering look of warning John sends her way when he feels Harold tense from beneath his hand.

Sameen narrows her eyes. “What’s with the past tense?”

Harold presses his lips together as pulls up another image: the remains of a burned apartment. “Mrs. Fray was reported to have died when their apartment was set on fire. There were evidences of foul play, and an ensuing struggle.”

“She fought back,” John murmurs. “Were the arsonists ever convicted?”

“No, Mister Reese,” Harold says quietly. “They were never found.”

A tense silence fills the air for a beat, before it’s broken by Sameen. “What about this guy?” she motions with her chin as she points out the man in the family picture. “Is he Clarissa’s father?”

Harold hesitates. “Not precisely,” he says carefully. “Detective Luke Garroway, Homicide Division. Romantically linked to Mrs. Fray. Lived with her for eighteen years, and even raised her daughter as his own, but he never married Jocelyn, nor did he ever officially adopt Clarissa.”

“Ooh, scandalous,” Root drawls. “And he’s also referred to in the past tense because…”

Harold sighs as he gives Root a sidelong glance when she trails off knowingly. “As I have no doubt you already know, Miss Groves, Detective Garroway went missing a few months ago.”

Root smiles at him. “The Machine’s been urging me to look into this rogue detective for quite some time now.” She tilts her head thoughtfully. “She isn’t telling me why, though she believes it’s important. Sadly, I always seem to hit a dead end in my investigations, mostly because these days I’m always so…” Her gaze flickers over to Sameen, giving her a once-over and smirking. “… _distracted_.”

“I’ll look into that then,” Harold says decisively as he stands up, surprising John. “I believe it’s about time I invite Detectives Carter and Fusco for brunch.”

“I’ll come with you,” John says immediately, heart seizing irrationally at the thought of Harold in the field without him.

Harold blinks at him. “Actually, Mister Reese, I’d like for you to check out Miss Fray’s former apartment. It may give us insight as to why the Machine gave us her number.”

“And provide us clues about what happened to her mother and the runaway boyfriend,” Sameen murmurs.

John looks at her. “I guess you’re the one coming with Finch, then.”

Sameen stares at him quizzically. “I am?”

“As it happens, Miss Fray is holding her first exhibit tonight, and I’ve already put Miss Shaw on the guest list,” Harold limps forward as he hands Sameen a ticket. “You’ll be going as a curator from The Museum of Modern Art.”

Sameen arches an eyebrow. “Will there be booze in this exhibit?”

Harold hesitates. “Does champagne count?”

Sameen purses her lips and turns to Root. “You better buy me dinner afterward. These snobby events always leave me hungry.”

Root flutters her eyelashes, tone thick and honeyed as she speaks. “It depends on what you’re hungry for, Sameen.”

John clears his throat pointedly. “Root, will you have time to go with Finch?”

Root turns to him with an impenetrable look. “How times have changed,” she murmurs, “that you would trust _me_ with Harold now.”

“ _Root—_ ” John begins warningly.

“Unfortunately, big lug, the Machine is telling me to go somewhere else.” She tilts her head, listening—and John watches her eyebrows rise to her forehead in surprise. “And it’s a place you and Sameen have been to before.”

John narrows his eyes. “Where?”

Root straightens slowly. “The Jade Wolf.”

“What? You mean the restaurant in Red Hook where Rebecca met up with her brother? Where she was tailed by a perpetrator _we couldn’t see_?” Sameen grips Root’s arm, forcing the other woman to face her. “Why is the Machine telling you to go back there?” she demands.

Root softens as she places her hand on top of Sameen's. “I don’t know,” she murmurs as she eyes each of them in turn. “But as you all know…”

She taps her ear with the cochlear implant and gives them all a small smile. “Wherever she tells me to go, I go.”

“Miss Groves.” Harold’s tone is gentle as he slowly steps toward her, a hand held up placatingly. “I know this isn’t the first time you heard this from me, and it most likely won’t be the last, but… I’m concerned about your unconditional, _unquestioning_ trust in the Machine.”

“Obsession, more like,” Sameen mutters under her breath.

Root sighs. “You of all people must have more faith in your own creation, Harry,” she tells him patiently. “And you, sweetie,” her mouth quirks as she tucks a stray strand of hair behind Sameen’s ear, “must stop being jealous of a god.”

“Artificial superintelligence,” Sameen corrects automatically, though John can see her visibly relent.

“And as for you, John.”

He looks up, pinned into place by the penetrating look Root shoots his way.

“Trust her,” Root tells him simply, “to take care of all of us. She’s not going to let any harm come to any of us, most especially her own father.” Her gaze flickers pointedly at Harold, who looks startled. “Because she’s just like the three of us, John. You, me, and Sameen.”

“Killers?” John challenges quietly.

“That’s the one thing that makes her different,” Root rejoins, unfazed. “But what makes her the same as us, John, is that she will not _hesitate_ to lay down her life for—”

  

* * *

 

**_FINCH, HAROLD._**

”Why is he relevant?”

**_PRIMARY THREAT TO SYSTEM._ **

“I see. Known associates?”

 **_REESE, JOHN  
_** **_SHAW, SAMEEN  
_ ** **_GROVES, SAMANTHA_**

 **_SECONDARY:  
_** **_CARTER, JOCELYN, NYPD  
_ ** **_FUSCO, LIONEL, NYPD_**

“All easily eliminated, once we have all the information to their whereabouts.”

**_ERROR. CLASSIFIED DATA. INACCESSIBLE._  **

“Well, that is an unfortunate turn of events. Is there anyone who can access that data for us?”

A pause. The cursor blinks on the blank screen for several seconds. Analysing.

Then, a single name:

**_LIGHTWOOD-BANE, MAGNUS._ **

“… Excellent.”

 

 


End file.
